


eleison

by minokawa



Series: guided wills [1]
Category: World Destruction | Sands of Destruction - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Series Rewrite, also like can u REALLY die if ur a literal god anyways? that's a real food for thought, he's not actually naive. that's just what he wants to be, im gonna try to like. make kyrie a sort of unreliable narrator here, im not sure if that's really along the lines of unreliable narrator but here we are, im posting this but like. since when was there a sands of destruction fandom? yeah, power of FRIENDSHIP bitch, there's not really gonna be like. romance here, well like if ur familiar with the game @ the character death. he gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minokawa/pseuds/minokawa
Summary: When he first came to, he was greeted by ash in his mouth and a persistent ringing in his ears. The first, and last, thing he remembered seeing was fire.The ashes turned to sand; with only instinct to guide him, he moved on. There was an intangible momentum carrying him forward. Like clockwork, almost; it was like there was a set path he was meant to follow.If only his mind wasn't as empty as the surface of the Sandsea spread out before him.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> This work is planned to be a rewrite of one of my favourite series Sands of Destruction! It's an attempt at a novelisation, as well as incorporating some more potential world building. This is also me trying to fill in some plot-holes and fix places where pacing seemed a little off. 
> 
> I'm mixing elements of both the game and anime here. I *guess* you could consider this an au; an alternate way as to how Kyrie's story unfolded.
> 
> I might write some parts in the perspective of the other characters, but as of the moment this narrative will strictly follow Kyrie.

_He's been having this dream, lately. Sometimes the details are different, like the specific scenery;_

_it was just that the most common was the island he can't seem to quite forget or remember. They all leave off on the same note, though._

 

_The bell tolls, the Sandsea beckons, and then--_

 

_And… then…_

* * *

  
At that point, Kyrie would usually wake up. Sometimes it would be Uncle Agni gently but firmer shaking them, with worry pinching his wrinkled brow. He would ask if he was having a nightmare, because he had cried out in his sleep. He couldn't give him a proper answer, because he didn't know what to call those dreams.

His chest would always feel tight, and constricted with conflicting emotions; then they'd feel a pang of guilt, at the look on Uncle Agni's face. It always made him feel as if he was the cause for the early wrinkles in his face, and the premature graying of his hair.

Other times, he'd jolt awake and find his sheets singed or crumbling to dust under his clenched fists. It was always an unpleasant and puzzling predicament, waking up expecting a mouthful of pillow-- only to be met by ash or sand. Or, he'd wake up because he dozed off under a tree; a bird would land on him, a cat would nudge against him-- something always woke him up.

Kyrie tried not to think about these things too much. He went with the flow, because he saw no reason to fight against it; it's not like he had much else, anyways. His memory was spotty, at best, and he could only recall things as far back as the day he woke up in the midst of ruin. It hasn't been much use to him before-- there was no context there to drive any sense of urgency into him.

There was no one who ever came for him; he had no known relatives or even a filed missing persons report. So, he'd been set adrift for as long as he can remember.

At least, he had Uncle Agni. He was a grizzled but kind old man who lived by himself in Barni Village. He said that he found him washed ashore; that it's a miracle he was in one piece, because the direction he came from didn't have any islands for miles. Kyrie is certain that he came from an island, but one night when kind, generous, patient Uncle Agni humored him and took him out on his boat…

There was only the Sandsea.

There might've been an island, once. Whoever else was there is either deep beneath the waves, or had escaped on their own vessels before he woke up. That's what he told him, as he draped a blanket over his shoulders in a placating gesture. Kyrie ended up falling asleep on the way back, thinking that he had simply said that to make him feel better.

 

* * *

  
_Sometimes he sees a Parent he can't recall._

 

_Their hand reaches out to him, and They cradle his face in Their hands._

_He can never make out Their face. Some instinctual part of them suggests that, maybe, that's because They don’t have one._

_They always says something to him, a smile in Their voice-- fond, perhaps? Amused?_

 

_Maybe it's both, but regardless They hold them in Their arms while the world burns._

* * *

  
“You must be one lucky young man,” Uncle Agni had said when he woke up the next day, then again, and then repeatedly as time ticked by. It was always in passing. He'd add on: “Not a scratch on you, nor sand in your lungs! Why, you looked as if you were merely sleeping, sprawled out like a starfish on the beach.”

Kyrie rests his head against the trunk of a tree. He keeps his eyes closed, and curls up against it as he waits. For what, he’s not sure, but he’ll accept anything that’ll let him go back to Barni. If he wishes it enough, will it happen? If he refuses to open his eyes for just a little longer, then maybe he could stop thinking of everyone in the past tense. Because everything is surely just another one of his terrible, horrifyingly confusing dreams.

He’ll wake up, and maybe it’ll be the missus next door that’ll gently, carefully, pat his back in an effort to make him stir. Or maybe it’ll be one of the kids that always run around with wild abandon; they would drop a panicked hen on his head, or dump a bucket filled with a bunch of gross stuff over his head. “Rise and shine!” Those little gremlins would chirp at him, all in jest, and with the bright looks on their faces he could never bring himself to get mad at them. The rest of the village was the same.

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching, a quiet crunch of grass as the person comes to a halt beside him. He refuses to acknowledge her, because then that would be admitting that this nightmare was real. He doesn’t want to wake up. He’ll keep his eyes closed, for as long as the rest of the world will allow it; he hopes that it'll be forever.

 

* * *

 

 _Beastmen bared their fangs at them, like they were wolves sizing up their prey. “You're coming with us.”_ _They said, and there was no room for debate._ _They called themselves the World Salvation Committee._  

_Confusion swarmed over him, and he turned his head to silently plead to Ursus Rex. The leader of Bani had not spoken a word since the wolves barged into the restaurant._

_“What is going on? Who are these people? Is this a prank?”_  

 _His eye barely catches the wanted poster behind the bar; it depicted the girl beside him, he noted distantly._ _Morte Asherah. The World Annihilation Front._ _Were the soldiers addressing her, then?_  

 _Then the wizened grizzly merely looked at them with his large, sad eyes. “I'm sorry, Kyrie, but it's best that you go with them--”_  

_He froze, and so did the girl. The soldiers paused, too, and it seemed that several things were going on here. Was he supposed to be some sort of… T_ _ribute? A recruit? Is that what Ursa Rex had wanted to request of him?_

 

“Run. You must run. Run away,”

 

_He didn't have time to think, because then Another Voice beckoned him, urged him forward._ _It reminded him of the invisible force that made him stand up, and move on from the remnants of that island._

 

Acta Est Fabula.

 

 _The girl he was serving earlier grabbed his hand, just as he started to move. H_ _e was moving mechanically, and not on his own accord._ _He ran away with her._  

_He ended up looking back, just in time to see Uncle Agni reach for him._

_His face was more stricken, but there was a resemblance to how Ursa Rex regarded him._

 

He would've been the first to crumble to dust.

* * *

 

  
What was Kyrie doing, before? There's a sharp ache pressing against his head,now, making it harder to think the more he tries to dwell. It comes to him in bits and pieces-- just like his earliest memories and the wisps of dreams that cling to the forefront of his mind.

That's right, Ursa Rex had come to see him at shortly after he returned to Uncle Agni's pub. He had just finished running some errands for him, and he was in the middle of serving a customer; but, Ursa Rex was the kind leader of their village, so who was Kyrie to say no? There was something they wanted to talk about, and then the soldiers from the World Salvation Committee filed in.

Kyrie stiffens as a hand awkwardly rests on his shoulder. He digs his nails into the arms of his sleeves, breath hitching as a realization dawns on him. They really are gone now. Bile crawls up his throat at the thought.

A cold flash of guilt. Uncle Agni and Ursus Rex welcomed him with open arms just as everyone else in the village did. And look at how he repaid them. He remembers the sad look in both of their eyes as he ran away. His eyes begin to sting, not for the first time that evening, and he tries to bury his face in the crook of his elbow.

Morte levels her turquoise gaze on him, eyes cutting him like cool steel as she looks him over. He winces under the silent scrutiny, tries to curl in on himself in a vain attempt to be shielded from whatever it is she's gonna do.

He didn't want to admit what had happened. It _terrified_ him. It made an incomprehensible feeling well up in his chest, and it made him feel as if he were drowning.

She’s looking at him again, he can feel her sharp eyes pierce into him. Between them, she holds the object that made him want to vomit. She waves it around a little, as if testing to see if the sphere really did glow more the closer it was to him. He forces himself to look away, and scrunches his eyes closed again.

 

* * *

  
_He remembers being cornered._

_They couldn't outrun all the beastmen that had chased after them._

 

 _Then, there was that voice again. The one who spoke to him just hours earlier._ _They said something, a command, firm and unrelenting._

_No one else could hear Them._

 

“Awaken. It is time. Fulfill your purpose.”

 

_Ursus Rex watches in dismay, and for the first time in his life, the disappointment in his gaze was directed at him. “Only the guilty run, Kyrie. Why must you do this?”_

 

“Awaken!” _The voice demands, drowning out the beastlord, and again he finds himself not in control of his body._ _Like a puppet being dangled by the strings, or a simple automaton that can only follow the whims of its master._

 

_The bells tolled._

 

**“Acta Est Fabula.”**

* * *

 

  
Morte eventually laughs, verging on hysterics, as she clasps his shoulder. “This is the Destruct-- an item crafted by the gods at the creation of the world. Legends say that it has the power to destroy the world. We-- somehow, you were able to use it. It reacted to _you_. We've been trying everything we can to learn its secrets. And, yet, without batting an eye-- _poof_! The entire hamlet practically turned into sand! Holy _shit_!”

Kyrie tries not to flinch. Reluctantly, he cracks open an eye to watch her pocket the item she's claiming to be the Destruct. He frowns, skepticism prickling under his skin as he quietly regards the object. Well, he supposed saying it was the _item_ that destroyed his home-- everyone he loved-- was better than the idea beginning to plant itself inside his mind. If all that power came from _it_ and not him, then maybe he'll be able to cope with this dreadful guilt better.

He can't blame himself if it was a freakish accident.

He opened and closed his mouth uselessly for a moment, his tongue feeling as if it was dried and weighed down by the entirety of the Sandsea. “Who's we?” He asks, voice sounding weaker than he'd ever want it to be.

Him finally speaking seems to sober Morte some, as she leans back while raising a brow. “Well, you heard ‘em dogs first-hand, didn't you? I'm the Scarlet Plague, The Lady Death, the Beastmen Slayer-- and member of the so-called World Annihilation Front.” She sneers, as if there was some sort of inside joke he was supposed to be pick up on.

She removes her hand from his shoulder, so that she can lean against the tree with her arms crossed over her chest. “There honestly isn’t much of a we-- it’s all me, and the lord who I’m using strictly for resources. The Committee pretty much slapped that title strictly on me. M’pretty sure that overlord also thinks he’s using me, in order to gather more information as to how he can use this crummy thing, but do I care? Hah! As if.”

Kyrie spends a moment unsure how to answer that, in fact he pretty much just stares at Morte dumbly. A beastmen lord…letting this girl commit acts of treason and arson against the rest of his kind? It was certainly baffling, to say the least, but he couldn’t help but be a bit _intrigued_. Plus, she went through the effort of saving him; he owes her, so he might as well simply hear her out. So, he decides to nod along, wringing his hands as he listens quietly.

“Oh, uhm… alright. I-- thank you. For carrying me here. You wanted to say something about that, didn’t you? Since I… blacked out, back there, after…” And here, he can’t bring himself to say it. The boy’s breath hitches again, and he clasps his hands together.

Morte frowns a little, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck as she averts her eyes. She clears her throat, intent to look at anything but Kyrie now. “Oh, yeah, that’s… I wasn’t expecting you to pass out, there, but maybe that’s just part of the cost for usin’ the Destruct. It’s a wonder neither of us are dust.”

A pause, and she slings her weapon off her shoulder. She props it up against another side of the tree, exhaling through her nose as it settles with a thud. “...That man, who tried to grab hold of you-- was he…?”

Kyrie’s silence was, to his relief, enough of an answer for her.

She nods then, stiffly, before abruptly standing up. “I’m sorry.” she offers eventually, nostrils flaring as she stubbornly refuses to look at him. He wouldn’t want to see the look on his face either, he probably looked like a puppy who got kicked and had his doggy treat stolen. Which. Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch, he supposed.

“You should-- you should sleep, Kyrie. I’m gonna keep watch. I think we’ve managed to outrun the survivin' soldiers. I’ll… take you to an old friend of mine. He can take you far away from here, whether or not you remember how you… y’know, in the morn'. You can try and go back to livin’ a simple life, away from any-- any reminders. That seem good?”

He didn’t think he could even fathom going back to a semblance of normalcy, now that everything he knew was gone. He understood the sentiment Morte was trying to express, though, so he offered her a faint smile and another nod. She hadn’t meant to get someone like him caught up in her business. While she was excited, at first, at whatever it was he managed to do-- it was, at the end of the day, merely a freakish accident.

That’s what he’s going to keep telling himself, at least. He ends up saying this aloud, even, which makes her cringe for the first time in front of him. She’s quick to lay out a bedroll for him, and then sets up her own a reasonable ways away.

Kyrie doesn’t sleep well that night, and he’s not sure if he ever will again. But, eventually, he does. The world continues to spin, even without his precious Barni Village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so like. this first part jumps around a lot in regards to tenses a lot, so im sorry if everything is like REALLY confusing??? but the point of this part was to pretty much go over a majority of the exposition from kyrie's pov. so, like, the tldr of this scene here is that kyrie is going over some key aspects of his life in Barni-- some hints that lead up to the inevitable activation of his powers. he's not really aware they're his powers, and neither is morte-- they both are kinda eager to write it off as kyrie somehow managing to use the supposed "destruct".
> 
> so a good portion of this part is him like... trying to deny that Barni and p much everyone in it Is Gone, because of him. Obliterated into sand. it's, understandably, weighing heavily on him. he just doesn't know how 2 really express it. morte, who perfectly understands what its like to lose someone you're close to, regardless of the specifics, realises this bc she's p much the anime version here in terms of characterisation. she's like. "ah shit. it's bc of me that this guy somehow destroyed his home." so like, of course she's just going to try and get them to safety + secure a place for kyrie to like... try and keep living normally if he wants to.


	2. ii

 “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“...Are we--”

“Oh my gods, what are you-- twelve?” Morte whips around to face Kyrie, having clearly grown exasperated with the boy's constant whining, and jabs a finger at him accusingly.

Kyrie simply shrugged, holding up his hands innocently as he tilts his head back a little to meet her gaze properly. Sure, he had been pestering her like this since the moment they set out on the road again. But, he thinks it's entirely appropriate for him to act like this! She did, after all, drag him into her business as the so-called World Annihilation Front.

Plus, the silence that would have tensely hung between them would've driven him mad otherwise. He was used to there being some sort of idle chatter, either from the other villagers milling about or Uncle Agni talking about one thing or another. He always tuned out what people were saying exactly, but it was still nice to have something other than the early morning chirping of crickets and birds.

Judging by the shift in Morte's face, and the new slump in her shoulders, he guesses the look on his face must've given it away. He smiles sheepishly, rocking back on his heels as he fidgets with the cuff of his gloved hand.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he rolls some words around in his head before deciding to quickly say something. “Well, no, but you're still an old lady compared to me, Morte.” A grin spreads across his face, more smug than anyone like him ever ought to be.

She looks offended at this, brows furrowing in a way that should make Kyrie fear for his life. He doesn't, because at the moment he doesn't really have a life anymore to begin with.

“Morte Asherah: a beautiful, olive skinned, brunette, seventeen-year-old human woman with eyes like turquoise--”

Said eyes glare at him, like the sunlight glinting off the exposed blade of her sword, digging into him with the intent to kill. Kyrie finally laughs, the sound filled with nerves, as he took an apprehensive step back. “It was on the wanted poster! Honest--”

Morte sighs, still disgruntled as she stares at him. It took her removing her hand from the hilt of her weapon for him to realise that she was actually gripping it to begin with. Kyrie absolutely has no idea what's going on in her head, and he honestly doesn't want to ask.

“Ugh, I'm _sixteen_ , for one-- that's a _huge_ difference-- and you can't be much younger!”

Kyrie is fairly certain that there isn't much of a difference, other than sixteen sounding younger. Actually, maybe it was pretty young, because who would want to advertise that one of the increasingly infamous wanted figures was closer to being a kid than an adult? Maybe she had a point, then, to place emphasis on her age.

“Well, I'm, like… fifteen-- so _there_!” Feeling as if saying such somehow means that he has won-- whatever this is-- he flashes another grin at her before starting to walk along the dirt path again.

He hears Morte scoff a little as he brushes past her, or at least he thinks it was a scoff. He catches a glimpse of her face, and tries his hardest not to dwell on her expression. He also tries not to think about the fact that he actually had no idea how old he was; in fact, did he ever have a birthday? His steps falter for a moment, and he frowns to himself as Morte soon walks past him.

He didn't know how old he was. But how could that be? He remembers celebrating with the rest of Barni every now and then-- unless, those weren't his birthdays? He tries to rack his brain for more answers, but he keeps drawing a blank. It's a little frustrating.

He doesn't like the feeling of doubt that begins to settle in the pit of his stomach. It's an uncomfortable weight.

When he finally pries himself away from his own thoughts, Morte, thankfully, hadn't stopped walking yet. Relieved at not being too far behind, Kyrie quickly bounds after her as if he hadn't stopped to begin with. She glances over at him just as he catches up, and he isn't sure how to process the way she's looking at him.

It reminds him of how Ursus Rex used to look at him, when he first arrived at Barni a couple years ago. He wanted to tell her to stop looking at him like that, but the words wouldn't leave the tip of his tongue.

 

* * *

 

It's Morte who ends up breaking the quiet that had fallen between them this time, and he can tell that she's determined to attempt at being softer around him. Something like that, he isn't quite sure. He wonders if there's guilt finally starting to press down on her, too.

“The harbour ain’t much farther from here, y'know. We can make it there in less than half an hour, and get you far from here if we hurry a little. Sounds good?”

He blinks dumbly at first, before opting to give her a cheesy double thumbs-up. “Yeah,” He still didn't have a clue as to what he could possibly do once she leaves him to his own devices. He'd just be alone. He'd be drifting again, and there's a trepidation that he feels towards such a future. He doesn't think Morte would want him to just stick with her, all things considered.

He was about to say something else, absently considering voicing his thoughts again, when the sound of rustling branches and feet drumming against the earth reached their ears. Morte stiffened, instinctively reaching for her sword just as one of the dreaded soldiers burst through the foliage in front of them. Kyrie yelped, and immediately spun on his heel to flee when more Committee members appeared to surround them.

“Fuck! How'd they find us so quickly?” As Morte unseathes her blade, the beastmen point their muskets at them. She curses again under her breath, almost vehemently, as she eyes the soldiers warily. These guys must've been some late reinforcements, because the ones from Barni didn't have guns.

“It, uh, looks like we're cornered again--”

One of the beastmen aims their gun directly at Kyrie, who quickly finds himself shutting up. Would it be okay to cry? He grips the daggers Uncle Agni had given him, shortly after he got accustomed to life in the village, and sparring lessons briefly flash before his eyes. He's-- he's never actually used them against someone before. Was it the same as defending himself against the wild animals just outside the village?

His eyes flicker over to Morte, and before he can blink, she's already darting around to disarm some of the soldiers. Her actions divert the attention from him, and she makes a show of dodging bullets and kicking faces in.

There's a rush in the air, and Kyrie finds his body moving on its own again. Except, this time it's more like he's simply running on autopilot. He ducks under a soldier to stab them in the leg, before rolling away and swiping at another. He's not really trying to aim-- he doesn't want to hurt anyone, not really. Because everyone at Barni always talked about how _bad_ hurting others was-- but the beastmen surrounding them probably wouldn't listen if he tried talking them down.

The forest quickly becomes hectic, and he loses track of Morte multiple times as she uses the trees as cover. She's far from being camouflaged with her vibrant pink garb, but she still has speed and agility on her side. Kyrie thinks he saw her swing on a couple of branches in order to dropkick some of the soldiers.

There's definitely beastmen dropping to the ground, incapacitated. But they still certainly outnumbered the both of them. The amount of blood in the air made him nauseous. It didn't help that soldiers were starting to go after him, now. He barely dodges a bullet that was aimed at his head, earning a burning graze by a temple as he desperately ducks into some bushes.

 

* * *

 

Morte is clearly a trained fighter. She managed this long just fine. He could run away, before someone figures out where he was again. He could. He _should_ , because the Committee are supposed to be the good guys here. Morte was a terrorist, one that regretted getting him involved and was trying to give him a chance at living a normal life-- but she was still a criminal at the end of the day.

But then he hears Morte shout, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that it was because one of the guys finally managed to hit her. He should run away. He grips the hilt of his knives, breath hitching, and dares himself to peek out from the bushes. Why is he thinking of saving her? Gods, he's just a plain mess.

Unfortunately, there was something in front of him. A small, yellow, fuzzy thing. Some sort of animal? Kyrie frowned, and then reeled back with a small yell as the creature spins around to face him. The teddy bear has a gun. He thinks it's a beastmen.

Apparently he said that out loud. The small bear scowls at him as it lunges towards him, a hand slapping over his mouth while it knocks him to the ground. Kyrie wondered if that eye-patch was real or not. The bear looked him over, its single eye squinting.

Morte was still fighting, if the sound of metal clashing and continuous gunfire was any indication. Kyrie had a feeling she probably needs help, at this point. He tries to shove the bear off him, but the its knee is digging into his gut pretty firmly; he's expertly pinned to the ground.

“Kyrie, right?” A voice gruff says, and it takes him a moment to realize it was coming from the bear. Well, he guessed this wasn't the weirdest development of his life so far. Kyrie nods, and the bear carefully removes its hand from his face.

“The girl with you? Don't speak.”

Alright, no offered explanation. He supposes that was to be expected, considering that there's still a fight going on and all. Kyrie nods, and again tries to get up. It's in vain. How could such a little guy be so heavy?

The bear clenches its jaw, straightening its shoulders as it checks its gun. He looks between Kyrie and the soldier that had just stepped in front of him. Their outfit seems a little different. The captain or something, then?

He's pretty sure they are. They seem to be yelling something, and Morte yells back at-- Rajiv? Oh! That must be the wolf in front of them, then. Kyrie still can't tell where Morte is, exactly, but her voice sounded strained. He should move. Get up. Do _something_. Where did this bear come from, anyways?

Said bear soon groans, gritting its teeth, before hurling itself out from the bush to tackle Rajiv. Kyrie continues to lay there for a moment, trying to process what just happened.

Another shout from Morte, closer this time, spurs him on. Taking a deep breath, he soon follows suit and burries one of his knives into the shoulder of a black wolf. He doesn't bother trying to take it out, and instead makes a run for Morte. She didn't look like she was doing so hot. Kyrie decided that he really, really didn't like having to see someone hurting so much.

 

* * *

 

Light. Light is what comes to mind as he places his free hand on Morte. He didn't mean for his nails to dig into her skin, but they did.

He's tired of seeing blood.

There's ringing in his ears, and then nothing but light. Morte covers her eyes, and so do the Committee members; distantly, he notes Rajiv howling. A paw grasps firmly onto his other hand, the one still holding a knife, and he worries about slicing them-- but they're dragging him and Morte away from the wolves.

They run. They run was fast as their legs would carry them. Morte says something, an incredulous lilt to her voice, but the roar of the Sandsea is too loud for Kyrie to hear her.

They didn't reach the city. Instead, there was a cliff overhanging the outskirts. The bear urged them to jump, and so they did. The waves made way for them, and with wolves still on their heels they made haste to a sand-rider that was docked nearby.

The bear hops in and takes the helm, while ushering the two kids aboard. “C’mon! There's no time to lose!”

The ringing won't leave his ears. Kyrie frantically rubs at them, face scrunching up while Morte pushes him forward. The moment she climbs aboard, the bear revs up the engine and they're going.

He turns around to watch the wolves growl at them from the edge of the shore. Some shoot, but others realize that they're rapidly getting out of range. The Sandsea purrs, and some of the soldiers get slapped by a wave. He can't help but smile at that-- there’s a sickening feeling of satisfaction there, surely, but he won’t linger on it.

Kyrie looks over at Morte, and watches the relief spread across her face as they gain distance. Her wounds are gone. She’s also staring at him again, with her brows furrowed, and so he looks away. He shifts his attention to the bear-- he should really ask for a name-- and opens his mouth to do just that.

Morte’s loud, abrupt swearing interrupts him, and next thing he knew she was grabbing a hold of him and leaping overboard. The bear followed after them, and something large whizzed past his head.

He only caught a glimpse of it, but he’s fairly certain that’s a missile blowing up their ride. He can hear Rajiv growl, and he gets the impression that whoever fired wasn’t supposed to.

Something hits his head, hard, and then everything is drowned out by the Sandsea.


	3. iii

_ Someone is crying. The voice is familiar. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Where he is, isn’t. It’s in the middle of the Sandsea, somewhere. The crying is coming from beside him. His gaze shifts, and he feels like he’s floating, bodiless. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ His eyes land on Morte. She looks different, here. Her clothes are black and white. A voice in the back of his mind helpfully supplies that she’s in mourning. She’s not alone. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ His gaze flits over the others gathered-- he spots a red-haired boy around her age. He doesn’t quite catch his face, because his attention is soon captured by the blue flower Morte places on the edge of some sort of box. He blinks once, twice, three times. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Then it clicks. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ This is a funeral. In the distance, the bells toll, and he’s forced to look at who’s inside the coffin. A boy that seems to be closer to around his age. There’s an aching familiarity. His vision swims, and a name comes to mind just as Morte sobs out: Reve.

 

_ Laying in Morte’s lap lies what she called the Destruct. There’s a sense of wrongness, of inaccuracy, that he gets from it being called that.  _

 

_ But it doesn’t feel as misplaced as the dreadful feeling welling up in his chest. It’s heavy with what he has quickly learned to call guilt. It’s exactly the same kind of guilt he felt after the destruction of Barni-- overwhelming, and attached to the notion that it was… _ __   
  


_ That everything was probably his fault. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He glances down at the Destruct, and is met by the gaze of his own reflection. It’s an odd, jarring moment that makes him feel as if he’s looking at himself from different perspectives. The other him’s hair is red like fire. It stares at him, and says: _ _   
_ __   
“You killed him.”

* * *

 

Kyrie wakes up with the Destruct in his hands. He’s not sure how he managed to get ahold of it-- didn’t Morte have it in her bag? His head  _ aches _ as he blearily looks around. In the words of Uncle Agni, he’s sprawled out like a starfish. He would've probably laughed at this, if the sun shining down on him didn't  _ hurt _ so much; or if the thought of Uncle Agni didn't bring a different shot of pain through him. 

 

His mouth tastes like ash. He wonders how often he's going to wake up like this. He hears voices above him, and a shadow is quick to block out the sun. His gaze drifts away from the Destruct, and lands on the boy that's now leaning over him. 

 

Kyrie sits up with a start, eyes widening as he realises that this was the red-haired boy from his dream. The other is quick enough to lean away, so that their heads don't end up knocking together, and his hands hover over him. 

 

“Well, I guess you are awake an' all that! Welcome back to the world of the living, kid.” 

 

Someone places a hand on Kyrie's shoulder, and it takes him a moment to realise that it was the bear's paw. He has to look down, even while sitting, in order to look at it. “Oh, uhm…”

 

His surroundings then come to him in bits and pieces. A hand gingerly pats the ground, tracing the grooves in the wood of the deck. That's where they are, he realises-- aboard some sort of merchant ship. Crates are stacked neatly around the mast, and then there are some more by the cabin. Peeking from behind the door are some men garbed in gold and red. The sight tickles the back of his head; it was another memory, just out of reach. 

 

“Kyrie, you alright?” Morte's voice finally reaches his ears. She's looking at him again, the same as she did the night after Barni. He wonders how she'd look at him, if he told her about his dream. She probably won't look at him the same again, if it held any truth. 

 

So, again, he looks away. He ends up staring at the Destruct again, and he thinks the action results in the others looking at it too. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm okay. What happened? Are  _ you _ guys okay?”

 

The bear clicks its tongue from beside him, and Kyrie doesn't need to move his head to tell that it’s furrowing its brow. It gives him a solid pat on his back, while Morte and the red-haired boy say something to each other. He catches a name Agan; could this have been the friend Morte mentioned earlier? It seems like it. There was a mutual familiarity hanging between them. 

 

“Y'know, you're lucky I happened to come across you guys-- a sandwhale would've probably swallowed you up otherwise. What were you  _ doing  _ out there, clinging onto pieces of driftwood, anyways?” Again sighs, propping his chin up with a hand as he glances at the three of them. 

 

“I know Mort's with the-- the  _ Front _ or whatever, which I'm honestly trying to wrap my head ‘round because  _ why,  _ on earth--”

 

“Because I'm gonna end this shitty ass world, that's all there is to it.” Morte grits out, before finally snatching the Destruct away from Kyrie. A part of him is tempted to take it back. He doesn't listen to it. 

 

“The fuck, Morte?” Agan grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't… How can you go from bein' one of the Golden Lions to… Is it because of--?”

 

Morte scowls, gripping the Destruct hard enough to shatter it; that is, if it was a regular glass-like sphere to begin with. The bear hasn't left his side, and some of the cloaked figures by the cabin are exchanging hushed whispers to one another. It seems to irritate both Morte and Agan. 

 

Kyrie recalls his dream, or vision, or whatever it should be called-- Reve's name is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't think he should share it. He's a coward. A dreadful, awful coward and murderer, isn't he? It's best if he just leaves them be. 

 

“...So that's really… That's really  _ the _ Destruct, huh? I suppose you ain't gonna be willing to trade that supposed treasure in exchange for passage…” Agan sighs again, and shakes his head before moving to stand. 

 

“Whatever, just consider this ride payback for that one time.” With that, he went to deal with those milling about the cabin. 

 

A long moment of silence passes between them, before Morte gets up abruptly with a shout. The bear, who had settled against Kyrie's side reluctantly, startled as well. 

 

“What? What is it  _ now _ ?”

 

Kyrie looks between them, before realising the look on Morte's face. “Oh-- you, you forgot to ask him, didn't you? You meant to, like, have him drop me off somewhere else, yeah?”

 

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

 

The bear groans and shakes its head. It crosses its arms with a huff, but chooses to say nothing else. Kyrie can’t help but laugh a little, at the absurdity of-- well, everything, he supposed.

 

Getting up, Kyrie waved pointed at Agan and the other people he was still dealing with. He gestures at Morte, then at him. “Well, it’s not too late to talk to him, is it? Uh, we could-- where are you heading, anyways?”   
  
“Nowhere in particular-- just away from, y’know. Plannin’ on layin’ low either way.” She grunts, before shoving her hands in her pockets and brushing past him. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”   
  
Well, there’s that. Kyrie quickly glanced down at the bear, who decided to quietly follow after them, before hurrying after her. 

* * *

 

When they neared Agan and the golden cloaks, snippets of the conversation reach their ears: 

 

“ _ She's nothing but bad luck,” _

 

“ _ The boy, he's already been marked as an accomplice--” _

 

_ “He might be more dangerous than the Front itself, did you hear about Barni?” _

 

The words cause the both of them two freeze. Kyrie feels as if he can't breath again, like something is squeezing the air out of his lungs. His hands are shaking again. 

 

Of course he wouldn't be able to run away. Where would he go, anyways? 

 

It's clear that Agan is trying to persuade them-- his crew, maybe, but they're not relenting. He even tries raising his voice, a hand on his hip as he stares down at the taller men. 

 

Morte must've decided that she heard enough, because she's already grabbing a hold of Kyrie’s hand and dragging him along. 

* * *

 

“We're going.” She barks out, gritting her teeth as she stomps down to the lower decks. There's a tarp draped over a row of something, and she yanks it away to reveal what must be emergency escape craft. It looks like the boat the bear led them to before. 

 

“What're these, anyways--?”

 

“Sand-Riders. They skim across the Sandsea. For quicker travel.” She flips open a panel on one of them, swinging herself into the driving seat as she checks the dash. “These babies are already set for the deep desert. Good-- it's what we need.”

 

“We're-- we're just leaving? But Agan--”

 

“We don't need his help.” That seems to be Morte's final statement, because she's already starting the engine. 

 

Kyrie titters, wringing his hands as he looks around. Wasn't this technically stealing? Stealing was bad, wasn't it? That's what his neighbours would always say, whenever one of the kids would try swiping an extra candy for themselves before supper. He didn't want to be bad. 

 

But the heroes of the world already seemed convinced that he was. He didn't even do anything-- 

 

He didn't  _ mean _ to. It wasn't him. Surely, Morte  _ has _ done some things, but...

 

Was she really  _ bad _ ? He frowns, contemplating this, and his thoughts are whirling while Morte continues to prep their craft. She seems content to focus on the task at hand.

 

Finally, the bear speaks up. “Well, I've been hired to look out for the kid-- might as well make that the both of you, since you're regarded as a package deal.” Its expression shifts, and Kyrie guesses that its supposed to be some sort of smile. It's hard to tell, when the person in question resembled a stuffed animal. 

 

“Name's Taupy, by the way.” It says, briefly holding Kyrie's hand so that it can give him a firm shake before letting go. 

 

It hops aboard, towards the back, leaning against the rim of the vessel. Morte looks up, clearly regarding the beastman skeptically, before shifting her attention back to Kyrie. “Well, whatcha waitin' for? Don't tell me you're thinkin' about scoldin' me from  _ stealin'. _ ”

 

He was, but he figures it'd be best not to admit that. He offers her a small, hesitant smile, before carefully climbing in beside her. “Nah. I was just-- thinking. I don't want to bother Agan anymore than us being here did already, y'know? He seemed like he already has his hands full.”

 

Morte blinks, before roughly turning her head to face in front of them. The rider started to move out of the hanger.

 

“Yeah. ‘Sides, looks like we won't be able to put you back into a normal life anyways, now that the Committee's convinced…” She trails off, and her grip tightens on the wheel as they glide across the Sandsea. 

 

“It's alright, Morte.” Kyrie says, softly, head bowed. “I wouldn't know what to do, anyways. I'd probably end up goin' on the run either way, yeah?” He gives a little snort, rubbing at his face. 

 

Taupy has fallen quiet again, gazing out at the waves behind them. Morte keeps her eyes focused straight ahead. 

 

“...I guess. Well, at least you'll have to see just how  _ shitty _ this world is, stickin' around with me an' all.”

 

Kyrie’s left rather baffled, at this statement. Was the world really  _ that _ terrible? Life in Barni village was always… So peaceful. Were the other Beast Lords not like Ursus Rex? He bites the inside of his cheek, making a small noise in his throat as he considers this. 

 

Surely, there are still beautiful things in the world too. Maybe he could make Morte see them for what they are. He might as well, right? Since he has no choice but to travel with her, really. He doubts the Committee would be willing to listen to him, anyways, if he tried to claim innocence. 

 

Everything was probably his fault, after all. 

* * *

 

It's when the sun is perched high in the sky, beating down on them, that the rider comes to an abrupt halt. There's an odd sound from the engine; it sputters and clunks until it grows silent. Morte swears, and revving the engine serves to only make more terrible sounds. Kyrie has never been around machinery before, but he's fairly certain that this isn't good. 

 

“Gods dammit! The stupid thing is stalled!  Piece of junk--”

 

“Oi, you've been nailin' this thing since we were back at the ship. What didja think was gonna happen, girly?”

 

Morte jerks her head around to scowl at Taupy, who merely shrugs under her glare. That's one brave teddy, Kyrie thought. Ah, he might've said that out loud. He needs to stop doing that. 

 

They're both looking at him, and he can't tell what either of them are thinking. He fidgets under their combined gaze, fiddling with the cuff of his glove again. He should say something else, probably. Anything. 

 

“So-- so we're stuck here? In the middle of the Sandsea?” 

 

Morte groans, before slumping against her seat and propping her feet up on the dashboard. “Yeah, we are. It's a damn pain that we gotta wait. Not like m'gonna complain, but I will if either of you start whinin'.”

 

That's… “Huh? But we're-- we're in the middle of nowhere! How can you be so calm--” Kyrie squirms in his seat before looking over at Taupy. He doesn't seem like he's inclined against this development at all. 

 

“Us girls from the People of Shifting Sands are used to it. Happens all the time, ‘sides, the engine won't be stalled  _ forever _ .”

 

“Shifting Sands, huh? Didn't figure you were one, considerin' your agenda and all against Beastmen.” Taupy grumbles, raising a brow. 

 

Morte waves a hand in the air, scoffing. “ _ Eh _ , I have a very reasonable vendetta against most of the Beast Lords and anyone who works with ‘em. The whole  _ Beastslayer _ title is really just because I used to be with those damned Lions.”

 

There it was again-- the Lions. Who were they? The name sounded familiar. Kyrie hummed, tilting his head as he regarded Morte. Taupy's brows seemed to be practically about to fly off his forehead. 

 

“Lions? What do you mean? I've, uh, I don't think I've heard of anything like them in Barni.” Admitting this resulted in both Morte and Taupy looking at him like he'd grown a second head. He cringed a little, looking between them bewildered. “What?”

 

“You seriously haven't heard of them? Damn, Barni must've been a really sheltered place, huh.” Kyrie tries not to flinch at the almost accusing tone Morte takes on. She's… Likely not wrong. The Destruct, the Committee, the Front, anything that was happening outside of his quaint rural village-- he didn't know. No one else seemed privy to external affairs, either. 

 

His face must really be an open book, because Morte is looking at him like  _ that _ again; she ends up looking away, at anything but him, again. This is starting to become a pattern, probably. She clears her throat, a grimace clear on her face even from this angle.

 

“The Golden Lions are a human resistance against the domineering Beastmen. Me, Agan, and my little brother used to work with ‘im. It’s been about a year since then. We joined ‘cuz my dad, and a couple others, left home and… Didn’t come back. Then ma’ died, so-- so we wanted to see for ourselves, what was going on. It’s  _ bad _ , Kyrie. On both sides. That’s as simple as I can put it.”

 

She exhales through her nose, covering her face with her hands. Taupy frowns as he watches her carefully. He looks over at Kyrie, then nods at her, and then looks back at him again. 

 

Oh. He was supposed to do something here, was he? He gulps, digging his fingers into the palm his gloved hand. He should, probably, maybe, definitely, mention his dream her. Mention Reve. But how could he, when he doesn't quite understand it either? He bites his lip, filled with nothing but uncertainty, about what to do next. 

 

“You're right. About how things in Barni were. I've-- I've honestly never heard of anything happening outside of it? I always… I always figured all Beast Lords were like Ursus Rex. He was always so kind, y'know? Always made sure everyone had someone to call family. Made sure I had someone like my Uncle...”

 

_ And how did he repay his kindness? His warmth? His generosity? He tried running away. He killed him, and Uncle Agni, and everyone else.  _

 

He couldn't breathe again. Nails dig into his hand through the fabric of the glove, and he finds himself unable to look at either of them again. His tongue feels like it's being weighed down by sand. “So--”

 

“So,  _ what _ , Kyrie?”

 

“--I want to… To understand what it is about this world that makes you set on  _ destroying _ it. Why not just try directly fixing whatever is wrong?”

 

That seems to leave Morte floundering for a bit, and she clenches her jaw as she puts together a reply. 

 

“Because, sometimes things are just too far gone. The Beast Lords-- their power is just too firmly established and ingrained with our society. Even if the heads of government change, there's no way to be certain that the social privileges and shit beastmen have  _ will _ . And some of the answers that people like the Lions have come with… Aren't gonna work. It just _ isn't _ . They're just gonna keep fighting, y'know? There's never gonna be peace-- so it's--”

 

“Better to just get rid of everything entirely, at this point? Have the gods start over or some shit?” Taupy prompts, voice still flat. 

 

Kyrie wonders how the beastmen isn't the slightest bit offended at all these things about his kind she's saying.

 

“Y'know, girly, you _do_ have a point. There’s all these problems, but no one's really doing anything that actually  _ helps _ . The Lions wanna get rid of the Beastmen entirely-- but genocide is still genocide, at the end of the day, and none of them actually has the salt to take on a Beast Lord themselves. And since everyone's all preoccupied with fighting each other, no one's tending to the--”

 

“The natural disasters already plaguing the globe, yeah. Earthquakes, droughts, floods, the whole lot of it. Either way, our world is pretty much ending-- So--”

 

“You're just wanting to hasten the process? Put everything out of its misery?”

 

“--Yeah.”

 

The speed of their exchange leaves Kyrie's head spinning, and all this talk about the world  _ ending _ sends an odd jolt down his spine. He finds it even harder to breath, and he tries to melt into his seat. He wanted a hole to open up and swallow him already, because then that would mean he wouldn't have to acknowledge what was happening. 

 

He sinks into his seat, curling up to tune out the rest of their conversation. He didn't want the world to end. He didn't want everyone in Barni to be destroyed. He didn't want anyone else to die. Were things really beyond saving? 


	4. iv

The sound of the engine starting again is what wakes Kyrie up. When did he fall asleep? He rubs at his eyes, propping himself up as he watches the waves fly past them.

 

He wonders how long the other two have been quiet. Morte is still at the wheel, and he's not quite sure where Taupy went. When he lifts his head to look around, a paw is laid on his shoulder. He pauses, then twists his neck and finds Taupy standing beside him. He didn't even hear him approach-- he must've already been standing there.

 

“You awake, kid? Good, there's another ship up ahead. We're gonna board it.” As Taupy points, Kyrie follows its finger to be greeted by the largest Sandsea vessel he's seen yet. It reminded him of the kind he'd see in storybooks. It's then that he notices the growing rumble in the Sandsea-- the ship is still moving.

 

“Woah, that's--”

 

“Pretty neat, right?” Morte grins, and once again floors the pedal on the rider. “ _That's_ gonna be our ride. Plenty of hiding places, too.”

 

“...How are we gonna get their attention? Do we, uh, have anything to serve as a flare, or…”

 

As if the very notion is ridiculous, both Taupy and Morte look at him and _laugh_. They share glances with each other, which makes him wonder if they're somehow exchanging telepathic messages. It makes him feel a little dumb, not quite getting whatever it was they were silently exchanging.

 

“Oh, don't be ridiculous! We don't need to get their attention, Kyrie. We just need to find a place to sneak on-board.” Morte is grinning at him now, all sharp teeth with an even sharper glint in her eyes. Kyrie couldn't help but wonder why Taupy, who was probably a reasonable adult, was _enabling_ her like this. Wasn’t stowing away on someone's ship _another_ bad thing?

 

Then, he realises that it might be because it's cut from a similar cloth-- and the fact that Morte _is_ a wanted criminal. He's probably one now, too, which doesn't help things.

 

As they near the vessel, he notes belatedly that Morte doesn't intend on stopping the rider. His eyes widen in alarm, but when he moves to look at either of them they're already preparing to jump.

 

“Oh, _wow_ , okay-- no verbal cue--?”

 

Then Taupy expertly picked him up, and leaped into their designated entrance with Kyrie in his arms. The kid would've screamed at the sudden movements, if he didn't think better of it.

 

Kyrie isn't sure whether he should feel miffed or not about the fact they _clearly_ didn't think he could make the jump. He settles for quietly pouting, as he watches Morte dust herself off. It seems that she… Isn't quite sure what to do next. She peeks around the corner, and Taupy does the same, and once again he's left there fiddling his thumbs.

 

“So, what now?” He asks, voice ringing in the air louder than he intended it to be. He cringed, and so did Morte; she glared at him from over her shoulder. Taupy merely shook his head, and gestured for them to be _silent._

 

Footsteps were fast approaching, from several directions, and Kyrie didn't need to be a genius to realise that this was surely an ‘ _oh, shit’_ moment. Beastmen round the corner in front of them, cats, and he doesn't need to turn around to tell that there are more coming from behind. Panic shoots through Kyrie, and his ears begin to ring again as he takes out his knife.

 

* * *

 

_01010011 01100101 01101100 01100110 00101101 01100100 01100101 01100110 01100101 01101110 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100001 01110100 01100101 00101110 00100000_

 

* * *

  


The message flashes in his mind's eye, a familiar yet foreign sequence ingraining itself into him. The instructions are clear.

 

These are the whispers of Parent. They guide his hand into the neck of the nearest guard. Red stains his face, his hands, and everyone _shouts_ . The others are filled with alarm and confusion, but with Parent’s calm hand on his shoulder he can’t feel _anything_. There's a certain thrill that comes from it; there's a certain satisfaction.

 

Parent coos praises in his ear, and then they are gone. They leave him alone, to deal with the aftermath. The stillness that had settled in his mind leaves with her. He freezes, and the instructions that were left for him grow hazy.

 

Then Morte is grabbing him, while Taupy tries to fend off the remaining guards that still have them pressed against their corner. There's a wide-eyed look in her face, and it's similar to how she looked at him after the _light_ , but this time there's some sort of anger in it. Was she mad at him? Why? What did he do? Parent said that he was doing _good_ , did she not see?

 

Dazed and drifting on a wave, that's what he feels. A numbness washes over him, and he tries to ignore the red that his hands were still dipped in. He couldn't touch her with them. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, when something took both their heads and slammed them together.

 

Wincing, he crumpled into the hold of one of the guards. One takes Morte, while two others restrain Taupy. As the world goes black once again, Kyrie weakly laughs at the sight of a cat overpowering a small bear.

 

He was the only one stained with red.

 

* * *

 

Kyrie should probably start getting used to waking up with a headache. How on earth does he _not_ have a concussion, at this point? He opens his eyes with a whine, and squints against the harsh artificial light of the room the guards must've brought them to. He pats around to further check his surroundings, deciding against keeping his eyes open. Being met by a plush, soft cushion jarred him enough to crack his eyes open again anyways.

 

He blinks a couple times, pursing his lips as the room reveals itself to be some sort of… Office. A very fancy one. There’s a cat perched on a desk in front of him, and he’s dressed in a manner that reminds him of Ursus Rex. With the addition of a picturesque captain’s hat, of course. It takes him a moment to realise that he was sitting between Morte and Taupy, and that they were talking to the cat.

 

He seriously needs to get in the habit of being more perceptive, because he again finds the conversation lost to him. He catches a name, at least, which is better than being entirely clueless. Felis Rex, another Beast Lord. He sucks in a breath at the title, fingers idly flexing. He tries to look at anything but his hands. He didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't him.

 

When they finish speaking, something about the _Zifnir_ being a leisure ship that operates outside the law. Felis Rex glances at him, a calculating look, and then goes onto… Commend their efforts? Then, there was something about making a deal-- performing errands in exchange for safe passage. Kyrie couldn't help but feel that this was a little odd, and Morte seemed particularly reluctant.

 

Before he could further process anything, Morte was already grabbing hold of his hand and leading him outside. She looks at him a couple times, clearly debating saying _something_ , but no words come out. They stop in front of some doors, and he assumes they got assigned some quarters here. He notices Taupy looking at him, similar to how Morte was, and it shortly brushes past him. It gestures for Morte to follow, or maybe it was meant for the both of them, but he finds himself lingering behind all the same.

 

Kyrie feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and it's all the warning he gets before a hand smaller than his own latches onto his wrist. He's spun around, and is soon face-to-face with a blonde girl. The small horns on the sides of her head catches his attention, and a part of his mind supplies the name _Dragonkin_. For a moment, he sees a creature with violet scales and wings that glitter like crystals.

 

She's smiling at him, eyes wide with amazement as she clasps his hand between her own. Her teeth are sharp. Her expression quickly shifts, however, and soon she's letting go and circling him like he was some sort of interesting display.

 

“Oh… Interesting. You have _emotions_. This isn't good. You'll get hurt.”

 

Kyrie feels the blood freeze in his veins, at her words. Her knowing gaze and the softness of her voice. He stammers for a moment, hands shaking, but she answers his question before he could even open his mouth. He gets the sickening feeling that she _knows_ , but she won't explain anything to him.

 

“You don't remember, either, do you? What you are, and what purpose you have. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

 

Then there’s the pitter-patter of pawateps, and Felis Rex is barging on to the deck. His demeanor is drastically different from back in the office, and he hovers over the Dragonkin like a queen doting on her kitten.

 

“Lady Rhi'a!  Good heavens, I was looking everywhere for you!  Where have you--” He notices Kyrie still standing there, then clears his throat as he forces his ruffled fur to lay flat. He wipes a paw over his face, wrinkling his nose in what might've been a self-conscious manner. “Oh, Kyrie was it? I didn't expect to see you there. What were you…?”

 

Rhi'a laughs, the sound like the tinkling of small bells, as she takes Felis Rex's paw and squeezes it. “Hello, Meow. I was here the entire time, I just wanted to meet him. He's tired, we should leave him be. He'd appreciate the showers in the cabin, I think.”

 

Kyrie shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat, and it's a herculean effort not to look away. Rhi'a gives him that same smile again, the corners of her eyes crinkling before she turns to leave with Felis Rex. “Good-bye for now,"

_01000100 01100101 01110011 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100011 01110100._

  
She called him something, and Kyrie refuses to acknowledge what it was. The word is nothing but a sequence of numbers like everything else. An image of Morte's Destruct is brought to mind, and with a shaky breath he runs inside.

 

He's just Kyrie. He's just an orphaned boy who grew up in Barni. It's not him. It can't be him. He's just like any other kid, of course he has emotions! Why would anything else be expected?

 

* * *

 

They ended up spending the entire evening not talking to each other. Taupy wordlessly bought everyone dinner, but Morte didn't seem interested, and Kyrie found it difficult to really stomach anything.

 

He made sure to scrub at his hands until the sponge chafed his skin, after. He still couldn't stop seeing the red, and hearing the ghost of a voice. That must be why they were upset with him. He did a bad thing, no matter what the voice might've said. It was his fault, event though it still wasn't _him_.

 

He doesn't sleep that night. He's not sure if he want to risk dealing with his dreams again, on top of everything. So, he's the one to gently wake the others when morning comes.

 

A nervous smile, some relenting sighs, and they move on. Taupy fills him in on the errands Felis Rex gave them to do; the tasks merely consist of gathering some supplies. It sounds simple enough. That's what the others seem to express, at least, so he finds some assurance in that.

 

They're eventually dropped off at port, with cloaks draped over their heads as means of disguise. Taupy is leading the way, and Morte is holding what is essentially a grocery list in one hand. There are officers lining the streets, though, and nearly all the wanted posters depict him and Morte. Not all of them are accurate, and there's actually a few that look nothing like either of them. It's kinda funny, actually, and seeing them appears to cheer Morte up. Plus, she's holding his hand now; maybe she wasn't mad at him.

 

It's when he stumbles and trips as they pass some guards idly standing by, that everything goes south again. This is definitely a pattern, Kyrie notes with dismay, as once again they're surrounded by guards. For once, he manages to ignore the ringing that manifests in his head.

 

So much for grocery shopping, because it looks like these officers are taking them to jail. Figures. Luck just doesn't seem to be on their side. 


End file.
